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In honor of Sadie Hawkins Day tomorrow (and of #WCW today), we asked some of OUR girl crushes (and one guy, you know, to level the playing field or something) to tell us which of THEIR girl crushes they would ask to the Sadie Hawkins Dance (you know, if that were a thing that adult humans could attend) in a dream date scenario. All of their responses (below) are INCREDIBLE, and no one even said Jennifer Lawrence! So without further adieu, here we go:


Sexual repression and traditional gender roles be damned, if I had to envision a world in which going to a school dance doesn’t totally feel weird from a cosmic perspective, I would want this universe to include me getting asked to a Sadie Hawkins dance by the Queen of Shock Rock, Wendy O Williams. This chick, who Lemmy Kilmister proudly boasted he was “no match for” in life, or in the sack, would be the exact type of kick-ass party mate I would want on the sidelines with me. Rockin’ our twin mohawks, and outfits comprised of a mishmash of torn pleather (since we’re both vegetarians), the beginning of our dance party would probably be the end of yours. As the legendary Plasmatics front-woman wrecks through the sound-system with a chainsaw, ACTUAL sparks fly as the Dominatrix of the Decibels and I mosh to the cacophony of chaos. After (more than likely) getting rousted by the cops, us ex-reform school girls take the dance hall to the parking lot where we blow up a couple junkers and rock out to the Sex Pistols and Motörhead until the sun comes up. In retrospect, this Sadie Hawkins thing doesn’t sound so bad after all…


If any woman were to ask me out, my top 3 choices were immediately Beyonce, Oprah or Sandra Lee – but Sadie Hawkins is ultimately about finding your ride or die chick on the criterion that my future bae must be able to show me a really good fucking time. Tara Reid in 2004 would literally take you to Taradise on a Sadie Hawkins Day Date. Remember when Wild On E! got too cray with Tara Reid and had to change the name of the show to Taradise? What could be better than making out with the future star of Sharknado 2 on a yacht with 50 sweaty dudes in Ibiza? You and Tara Reid’s original nipples would have an experience that you would not forget because you would have been too turnt to remember it happened in the first place.


Every teen girl knows that the best part of a dance is dressing up. Although I wore my fair share of Forever 21 dresses in high school, my ideal Sadie Hawkins outfit is a pantsuit. And who better to share in this dream than professional-wear enthusiast/perfect human Leslie Knope? Out of all the fictional local politicians I know, Leslie is definitely the most willing to wear matching outfits with me. Her dance skills are historical- we would be an unstoppable whirlwind of waving elbows and awkward head tilts. When the dance is over, the night has just begun for me and Leslie. Although she has countless redeeming qualities, her love for waffles is one of the more appealing things about her. Our romantic evening concludes with a trip to IHOP.



If I could go back in time to high school and ask a total lady crush out, it would probably be Nicky Nichols from OITNB. I mean, first of all Natasha Lyonne is just a total badass babe with a heart of gold. Second of all, she might just be the funniest woman on that show. Finally, why the fuck not?


At least once a year I reread Bridget Jones’s Diary. Sometimes I have to force myself not to immediately begin the book again once I’ve finished reading it for the 10 millionth time of my life. The first time I read it I was 22. At the time Bridget was 33, turning 34. I am now 34 about to turn 35 and cannot believe that I am almost older than a woman with whom I’ve basically been friends for 12 years. I spend time with this character when I am sad. She never ceases to cheer me up. I am drawn to her klutziness, slight drinking problem, definite body image issues, and the eccentric way she views the world. Plus she is as addicted to Pride and Prejudice and the awful wonderfulness that is Mr. Darcy as I am. He is such a delightful asshole. Sometimes it feels like she is a better friend to me than my actual friends, but she is definitely better to me than I am to myself which is why I keep coming back. Someday I hope to grow up and be just like Bridget.


I’d invite Sarah Manning from Orphan Black. She deserves a night off from scientists and cult figures scrambling to kill/kidnap her. Girl is tired. But she likes to let loose, too. Eventually, other clones will join us. Helena first, gnawing on a chicken leg like a regular at so many Renn Fests. She sidles up to me. “Hello seestra,” and I point to Sarah. “Um, she’s your girl.” Then Allison arrives, all pursed lips and tightly wound. “Ritz crackers with cream cheese for snacks? Who planned this party? Pippa Middleton?” “Good one,” says Cosima, the last to arrive, and with a joint. We pass it around and then…clone dance party!



If I were lucky enough to be in high school again  *RIP youth * I’d love Shane from The L Word to ask me out, as she is my ultimate #WCF or WOMAN CRUSH FOREVER. To be clear, I would specifically want to go with Shane, the character, not Katherine Moennig (no shade, Kate). No one’s got swag like Shane!!


I’d ask Gillian Anderson, with the stipulation that she had to be in character as Dana Scully. Scully, as far as I can tell, was straight, but Anderson’s sexuality seems to be a little more fluid, so there’s a chance we could make out a little while pretending to investigate freaky, paranormal events. Maybe aliens impersonating students infiltrated the dance. Maybe someone spiked the punch with black oil. Either way, Anderson’s wearing a smart pantsuit and keeping me on my toes with her skeptical, sassy insights. It’s been pointed out to me that I resemble a female version of The Lone Gunmen’s Richard Langly so, I feel like we’d have a lot of fun.


I’d ask NYC-based fashion photographer Cass Bird to the Sadie Hawkins dance. Not only do I swoon over the casual, personality-driven fashion images she makes for Vogue, New York Times Magazine, and countless other clients, her ability to come across as a friendly real person gives me hope for an industry packed with bland, boring white men. While drawing out the most spicy moments from her subjects, she simultaneously introduces her own apparent glee into her work, which ranges from softly romantic to bombastically alive. As an advocate for sexual and gender equality, Bird’s point of view is distinctively her own. We have a mutual friend so this dance thing is actually sort of possible.

Also, it would be hilarious to ask Anne Hathaway so we could dress alike and freak everyone out for being doppelgängers. We ALSO have a mutual friend, who says that we are eerily similar and would get along famously. It would be charming to find out.


When I texted a friend about who I should bring to the Sadie Hawkins dance, of all women through the ages, we both knew there was only one answer: Nicki Minaj. Nicki Minaj, an irrepressible provocateur, is no stranger to controversy, or my heart. I became obsessed with Nicki when her music (specifically, “Beez in the Trap” and her knocking it out of the park with her verse on “Monster”) helped me through some rough times. Nicki is the pop culture feminist that I need. Her anger, her truth, and her great speech outlining the ways we talk about men and women (Wayne is a boss, but she’s a bitch) is all that I need on a rough day. See here for reference:

Plus, can you imagine a better woman to take to a dance? She produces some of the best summer dance jams of any woman around! Additionally, her outfit is sure to be killer and I can only hope that by the end of the dance we are looking at one another and saying, “No, you’re the greatest!” over and over, as I do with all my best female friends. I’ll wear pink, she’ll wear a print, and it’ll be the best dance of my life.


My Sadie Hawkins Dance date would obviously be Jennifer Aniston, “The Hottest Woman of All Time” according to Men’s Health magazine. I would rent a limo for the occasion, but pay the chauffeur a large tip to let me wear his uniform and to stay out of my magical night. Once I got to her house, I would text her saying, “Come out. I have a surprise for you :P” Dressed as the chauffeur, I would open the limo door and in my lowest voice say, “Evening Madame.” I would then pinch her butt and yell, “SURPRISE! It’s me, it’s Linsay!” We would laugh and laugh as I drove her to The Sadie Hawkins Dance. We would enter the dance hall arm in arm as a fan near the entrance gently fluttered her beautiful, angelic hair. “I’ll Make Love to You” by Boys II Men would be playing and everyone would stop what they were doing to stare at us, wondering how a goddess like Jennifer Aniston ended up with such an insignificant, paltry chauffeur. The rest of the night we would be the stars of the dance floor, spinning, and spinning, making love to each other with our eyes.


Gertrude Stein is my ultimate Sadie Hawkins date. If Gertrude approached me in the hall during passing period at McClatchy High School and announced her intentions in some obtuse Sapphic rambling, I probably would’ve fainted on the spot. Of course, the likely scenario would be that she would get me drunk at the dance, write poetry all over my limbs, and have a photographer friend take photos of me. I would be honored.


Asking people out based on the gender binary is, like, so 2008. I’d probably skip the dance and go to the nearest queer house party where concepts like ‘girl,’ boy,’ and ‘work-appropriate haircuts’ don’t exist. The music would be better. And the drugs.


Definitely, definitely Laverne Cox. I don’t know if she is as good at styling hair or doing makeup as she appears to be on Orange Is the New Black, but chances are that she’s way better than I am at anything related to cosmetology, and she would be a valuable asset in terms of getting ready pre-dance. The only problem is that I know I would never be able to ask her; I once saw her at a party and (being five hundred sheets to the wind) wanted to casually saunter (read: stumble) over to spew words of admiration, but not even my generally inhibition-free inebriation would allow me to get within thirty feet without feeling as though I might pass out. (Can Laverne just ask ME to the Sadie Hawkins Dance?)


You know, I’m not really a dance type of person. I went to one in 8th grade but it was mostly with the intent of putting on as much Peppermint Lip Smackers as possible and gossiping with my friends; my second and final dance situation was Senior Prom, of which I am just now realizing I have absolutely zero memory of, probably because Bacardi Limon and Sprite? So while it is a far older and infinitely wiser version of myself currently choosing their ideal Sadie Hawkins date, it is with respect to my checkered, boozy, Mean Girls-ish past that I choo-choo-choose to ask the most checkered, the booziest, and the most ultimate Mean Girl: Lucille Bluth. I hope she understands the question, and I hope she responds to it.



It’s that magical time of year….

When women can throw feminism to the wind and they can cat call other women in a respectful, but gender neutral way.

How you ask? Well, with the power of Sadie Hawkins. As a proud bisexual party girl and all around fun time gal, I would have to ask the ultimate bisexual party girl…Janis Joplin.

Janis Joplin would have the best drugs, she would wear the best outfit and in the end, we could end up in a threesome with Jimi Hendrix. I would simply share one glass or 42 of whiskey with her and say, “Hey baby, your man is just a ball and chain, but don’t cry baby, and as we learned on the train man; tomorrow never comes man. So, why don’t we just tryyyyyy just a little bit harder to get it while we can and enjoy the summertime because it’s just you, Me and Bobby McGee. So, come to the Sadie Hawkins dance with me baby and if you say no you’ll just have to go on and take another little piece of my heart.”

For good measure, we asked for one man’s ideal Sadie Hawkins Dance date:

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When you have a woman’s severed head tattooed on your wrist, the likelihood is that you harbor some sort of crush on her. This fine lady is someone I would definitely be nervous about asking to dance, so this fantasy football Sadie Hawkins dance is just the chance I need. That woman is the poet, critic, essayist, and Grande Dame Bitchlord of All Creation, Dorothy Parker. Parker has always loomed large in my life ever since I saw Jennifer Jason Leigh portray her in the biopic Mrs. Parker and the Vicious Circle when I was thirteen.

A brilliant writer, notable for a complete lack of faith in her own brilliance, and a woman trapped by the misogyny of the era around her, where she became convinced that her inability to become a novelist (still very much so a male literary form) or sustain a relationship was somehow a curse brought upon her by her gender. In spite of all her self-doubt, she prospered where others failed. An almost-congenitally suicidal person, she managed to outlive Hemmingway (who killed himself when he failed to live up to his own standards of machismo), write the greatest song in all of Leonard Bernstein’s operetta Candide (“Glitter and Be Gay,” a prostitute’s lament about her grand wealth), become the sole founding female editor of the New Yorker magazine, get blacklisted from Hollywood for her open support for socialism, and become more or less the first prominent writer to also be a full-throated activist for anti-racism and civil rights. Upon her death, she left her estate and corpse to Dr. Martin Luther King. His death shortly thereafter led to her ashes being locked in a lawyer’s safe in Baltimore for fifty years, a fitting epitaph for the bon mot genius of the 20th century.

An occasionally suicidal person myself, I had her head tattooed on my wrist, right below the closing words from her poem on suicide, reading, “Might as Well Live.” I spend a lot of time looking at it, and she’s probably saved my life. So yeah, I’d be too awkward to ask her out. But oh man, getting asked by Dorothy Parker to a Sadie Hawkins dance? Everyone would be jealous, we’d stand drunkenly in the corner making fun of people, and I’d introduce her to Twitter. Which would be the greatest gift to the 21st century one could imagine.

I love you, Dorothy!